I Told Him
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: "It is going to rain tonight," said Maglor. Elrond did not find this helpful. "But where's Maedhros?" "It's going to be a big storm."


Disclaimer- I'm sorry.

Warnings for sassy, unnecessary Elrond. I don't consider him OOC, he's just...a problem. :P I'd say more, but it's 5 A.M.

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"Where is Maedhros?"

Elrond had a routine. Elrond did not like to deviate from that routine. In a world where he could be wrenched from one lord to another in the game of politics, his routine gave him a sense of security.

So when Elrond woke up that morning, shoved his brother awake and left him sitting on the floor rubbing his eyes, retrieved his morning meal from the cooks, and gone upstairs expecting to see Maedhros standing tall and silent over their meal like some great morbid hawk, he was not pleased to find that he was gone.

"It is going to rain tonight," said Maglor.

Elrond did not find this helpful.

"But where's Maedhros?"

"It's going to be a big storm."

Maglor was never like that. He was always cautiously helpful, as though ever afraid they would remember who he was and that they should hate him. Elrond was over it. Or, to be more accurate, he was shelving his conflicted feelings for a more appropriate date. Namely, for a date where they weren't at war.

"Ada," said Elrond, calling him father because he knew it would soften Maglor up. "Why aren't you answering my question?"

Maglor actually _smiled_ at him. While not nearly as stoic as Maedhros (you'd practically have to be a statue to accomplish that), he certainly didn't tend to waste smiles.

"I am. Tell me, when was the last time it stormed at Amon Ereb?"

Elrond thought about it.

"Never, that I can remember."

There was that _smile_ again. "It never rained at Himring, either. It rarely snowed, either. A dreary place, no doubt, but my eldest brother liked it for that very reason."

"Are you telling me that Maedhros doesn't like storms?"

Maglor picked up and shuffled a sheaf of papers on the table, apparently intent on them. Elrond waited.

"No, dear one. I am telling you that you should bring him a mug of something hot and maybe a plate of those delicious pastries Enelya makes."

Exactly on schedule, Elros blew into the room like a hurricane, yawned, and said, "Where's Maedhros?"

If there was anything Elrond wanted in the world right then, it was for him to possess the dexterity needed to _not spill_ the hot drink and plate of pastries he was carrying to Maedhros's room. He wished he could make the servants do it, but Maglor wouldn't approve. He sighed. Labor was hard.

He hesitated before knocking on Maedhros's door. He'd never even been to his rooms before; he'd never dared (not the same with Maglor's private rooms, where he had learned to play the harp and he and Elros had wrestled and played before falling asleep on Maglor's bed, exhausted and happy).

He knocked. Maglor had told him to do this. No one knew Maedhros better than Maglor. To be honest, no one else knew Maedhros at all.

There was no reply, so Elrond knocked again.

"Who is it?" came the gruff, scratchy yell. Maglor had told him once, in passing, that Maedhros rarely raised his voice because of damage to his vocal cords. Maedhros so rarely spoke, and never loudly, that Elrond hadn't been sure, but hearing his yell made him certain that Maglor was telling no lie.

"Elrond," said Elrond loudly, his heart hammering. Ridiculous, that he should be so nervous. This man had only driven his mother to jump off a cliff, after all.

Pushing that traitorous thought out of his head, Elrond wait for a reply. It took a moment, but he finally got one.

"What do you want?"

"I brought a hot drink and some of Enelya's pastries," replied Elrond.

Another long pause. Then...

"Come in."

Elrond swallowed hard and opened the door, feeling the urge to tiptoe in. Nonsense. He was being ridiculous; Maedhros had said he could come.

He walked in, looking for somewhere to set the precariously balanced food and drink, and finding only a small table next to the bed. The whole room in itself was rather sad; it was rough and felt unfinished, as thought it had been one of the first rooms built and then never touched up, and there was little furniture and few belongings, only one locked chest at the foot of the extra large bed, which was long enough to accommodate Maedhros's height. Elrond briefly wondered which of Amon Ereb's moody, silent craftsmen had been hired to make the moody, silent Fëanorian's extra long bed.

Then he saw Maedhros himself, who was barely visible in the bed, all but the back of his head hidden by tangled sheets and blankets. Elrond was at a loss for words. Was Maedhros _sick?_ But Elves didn't get sick...

"Do you have food or not?"

Maedhros's voice, now that he was in the room, was barely louder than a whisper.

"I-I have food," stammered Elrond, feeling dumb.

He offered a pastry to Maedhros, who rolled over and reached a scarred hand out to accept it. _Wow._ Elrond had never truly appreciated how scarred Maedhros really was, so many of them that they overlapped, not an inch of original skin in sight.

"Did Maglor send you?"

"Yes," said Elrond. "I asked him where you were, and all he would tell me was that it was storming."

To his surprise, Maedhros let out a sharp bark of laughter, pulling himself up until so he was seated. He was wearing a plain undershirt that had become soaked with sweat, matching his stark white face. His movements as he ate the pastry were jolted and painful.

"Ever the poet, my brother. I'm surprised he did not tell you himself."

"He probably thinks he _did,_ whatever it is," replied Elrond.

Maedhros cast Elrond an appreciative glance before returning to devouring the pastry.

"Pull up a chair," he said. "There is a lot of food here, and I suspect you came here with little breakfast."

Elrond searched and founded one of only two chairs in the room, both of them hard-backed and not unduly comfortable. Elrond speculated that that was how Maedhros liked most of his things.

He pulled it up to Maedhros's table and grabbed a pastry.

"How did you know that?" he asked.

"I know you have a schedule," was all Maedhros would say.

"How does Maglor know it's going to storm?"

"I told him."

Elrond and Maedhros both glanced out the single window in the room, which had bright sunlight streaming through it.

"You've gotta admit," said Elrond through his pastry. "It's not looking real stormy."

"I can feel it."

"What?"

Elrond swallowed the last of his food and stared at Maedhros, who met his gaze evenly. Then he swung his long legs over the side of the bed in one swift movement, groaning slightly. Elrond winced when he heard joints crack loudly. Maedhros settled with his right arm resting on his lap and his left hand cupping his face so that he could stare at Elrond better.

Wonderful. Just what Elrond wanted. A great view of Maedhros's mutilated arms and neck, plus a staring contest with the man himself. He contemplated staring at the ground, but a quick look told him nothing except that Maedhros's feet with as scarred as the rest of him, so he raised his eyes back up.

"I can feel in weather coming," said Maedhros finally. "Rains make my joints stiff. Storms make them even stiffer. It is very painful."

"So _that's _why you live in places without storms..." said Elrond thoughtfully.

"No," replied Maedhros flatly. "I was just lucky that I ended up in places without steady rainfall. If I lived near the coast, where it rains often, I would get up every morning, regardless of my stiffness. As it is, with little rain, I can allow myself to take refuge in my room for a day or two at a time."

Damn, Maedhros even calculated his own _misery _allowance. Maedhros was nothing if not hardcore.

"Why do your joints stiffen up?" asked Elrond. "Have they always been like that? Do other Elves have it?"

"It happens when you break a bone," said Maedhros. "I have broken many bones."

Elrond blushed. He was such an idiot. He clumsily grabbed a pastry.

"Do not bother with embarrassment," said Maedhros, plucking another pastry from the pile and sipping at the drink. "It has no use. And besides, if you should be embarrassed about anything, it's that bitchy inner monologue of yours. You may be, well, not polite, but decent enough outwardly, but I can tell that you're constantly complaining and whining inside."

Elrond choke on the pastry.

"I-how did you-but-"

"Relax," said Maedhros, a side of his mouth tilting upwards in something resembling a smile. "I spent my half my life around children and teenagers. It is normal; you'll grow out of it."

"Will I?" asked Elrond, voicing concerns he didn't even know he had. "What if I don't?"

"If you don't, you can vie for the replacement of one of my younger brothers," said Maedhros. "They never grew up either."

There was silence.

"It was a joke," said Maedhros.

Elrond laughed. It was not a convincing laugh.

"I used to be funny, you know," sighed Maedhros. "I think it's the scars. They're very off-putting."

"Smiling once and a while could help," offered Elrond.

Maedhros studied him, once again making Elrond feel like a particularly vile insect. Then his lip did the upwards-tilt thing again, and Elrond smiled back.

"You'll be fine," said Maedhros. "You're growing up already."

Maedhros then drank the rest of the now rather lukewarm drink Elrond had broke and sighed again. This time it was a very tired sigh.

"I have moved too much today," he said wearily. "My back hurts. Thank you for keeping me company. I find that not many are willing to do that these days."

"Oh," said Elrond, startled. "You're welcome. I mean, it was my pleasure."

Maedhros, with much painful cracking of joints, laid back down in the bed and pulled the blankets back over him, deftly pulling the curtains on his window closed.

"Will you be all right?"

"The pain will pass when the storm passes."

Elrond nodded to Maedhros, who replied by turning over to face the wall. Elrond reached for the mug and plate, but a muffled voice stopped him.

"Leave the pastries."

Elrond laughed and took only the mug.

It stormed that night.

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